


fight me breathless

by loveylou



Series: breathless series [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Louis, Dancing, Doctor Harry Styles, Doctor Zayn Malik, Dom Harry, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies to Lovers, Footballer Louis Tomlinson, Harry is 26, Hospital, Liam is also a doctor?, Louis Tomlinson is sassy, Louis can’t breathe, M/M, Niall is Niall, Poor Louis, Possessive Harry Styles, Sexual Tension, Sick Louis, Smut, Sub Louis, Surgery, Top Harry, Vodka? definitely gay, Vomiting, but LARRY af, but there’s only one sex scene so only kinda, captain niall, club, fight me, louis is 23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27258877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveylou/pseuds/loveylou
Summary: “Fight me!”That got Dr. Styles’ attention and he looked at Louis, who was in a hospital bed, coughing and wheezing, incredulously.“What?”Louis coughed again, “I said, fight me!”“Maybe later.” The confusion was melting into amusement on Styles’ face and Louis scowled.———Louis Tomlinson has no idea why he’s in a London hospital for asthma, but enter Harry Styles, his doctor, who he definitely doesn’t think is hot, and he’s left wondering if asthma is why he can’t seem to breathe properly with his doctor around.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan/Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Series: breathless series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992610
Comments: 3
Kudos: 245





	fight me breathless

**Author's Note:**

> um, yeah, so i’m in the middle of an ice storm so i found this in my docs and decided to finish it cause what the hell? 
> 
> so, yeah, anyway, i hope you like it!! let me know what you think! 
> 
> thanks for reading :):)

Louis had asthma. Like really severe, he could barely breathe on a normal day, asthma. Except he wasn’t born with it. No, his asthma had started in his early twenties, which was annoying considering he had been playing football professionally, and that kind of requires the ability to breathe. It was also unusual for it to present this severely this late in life. Initially, his doctor had suggested that he go to a specialist all the way in London, but Louis scoffed at the idea and his doctor simply prescribed him a daily pill and an inhaler. 

When he had told his coach that he couldn’t play anymore, at least not until he had his newly found asthma under control, the man shook his head and told him, “you’ll always have a place on this team, Louis.”

Since then, Louis had been helping out around the field and cheering on his teammates after his shifts at his new job. 

After getting asthma, he began work at a small bookstore not too far from his childhood home, which was still technically his house. Okay, yes, it sounds pathetic, Louis is 23 and still living in his mother’s home, but honestly, if you had a mother like Johannah Deakin, you would want to stay at home too. 

The fact that he also had to deal with his six siblings all the time was a bit of an annoyance, but one he still gladly accepted. Lottie, the second eldest, had poked fun at Louis when he received his diagnosis, saying that she could finally get back at him for all of their races that she had lost. 

He tried to laugh it off, laugh everything off, just like he always did, but he couldn’t. Not on the inside at least. His life had suddenly become two: before asthma and after. He hated nothing more than to be weak, and despite reassurances, he saw the concerned looks he got as he was bent in half, coughing up his lungs or when he was crying because he just couldn’t get the strength to breathe. Asthma made his lungs weak. Which in his mind made  _ him _ weak. 

He was left breathless after hauling too many leather-bound books across the small space of his work. The way he had to take a puff from his inhaler when he was just watching football from the sidelines.  _ Watching.  _

He hated the wheeze that he never could seem to get rid of. His mother told him to go back to the clinic, to talk to Dr. Rogers about better treatment options, but if there was one goddamn thing that Louis jarred more than his asthma, it was going to the doctor’s. 

It was something about the sterile clean rooms that always seemed to be far too monotone and boringly still for Louis. He avoided them at all cost, in fact it had taken his mother dragging him to the clinic for him to get diagnosed with asthma in the first place. He absolutely refused to go back just because his lungs were not cooperating with the simple idea of breathing. 

————

“Mum, I let you drive and you’re already getting lost, the airport is the other way.”

His mother shrugged from behind the wheel, “I know where I’m going.”

Louis knew where they were going, at least where they were supposed to be going, which was the airport. Louis had finally convinced his mother that her, the girls, and his stepdad should take their annual retreat to the wilderness. The twins, Ernest and Doris were still too young for the trip, so they would be staying with their grandparents. It had become a tradition, go out to the middle of nowhere, camp and hike for a week. With Louis’ asthma he couldn’t go, and that led to the idea of cancelling the trip. He, however, remained adamant that it was an important tradition that shouldn’t be missed because of him. He was 23 for fuck’s sake, he could last a week on his own. 

So Louis was left clueless as to where they were going in a car full of his siblings and their belongings. Turning down a smaller road, it dawned on Louis. 

“Oh hell no!”

“Language,” his mother hissed back, looking at Daisy and Phoebe, making sure that the eleven-year-olds weren’t listening.

“Mum, I told you I’m fine,” He huffed crossing his arms as he watched the building that was the clinic grow closer, “there’s no need for you to take me  _ there. _ ”

He said the word with disdain, sending a glare to reinforce it. Lottie laughed, but it was half-hearted, “Louis, we all know you’re a stubborn git, but you need help. More than an inhaler can give you. You should count yourself lucky that we’re letting you do this now, when you can be by yourself, instead of holding your hand the entire time.”

He didn’t respond, mostly because she was right and he didn’t want to admit it, but also partly because he was scared, which he also didn’t want to admit. 

Because if there was one thing that Louis hated in this world, it was being told that he wasn’t able to do something. Nothing was impossible for Louis Tomlinson, at least not if Louis Tomlinson had a say in it. And he was the only thing that did have a say in his life.  _ Until fucking Asthma, _ he thought bitterly.

He felt weak. He couldn’t do anything anymore, and all he was being told were the things that he wasn’t able to do. He watched his mum wave goodbye, his sisters smiling as he flipped them off, the nurse holding his wrist, dragging his reluctant steps through a door and to an examination room.

“Mr. Tomlinson!”

Louis glowered at the cheer in the doctor's voice, kicking at air with his scuffed up sneakers, his legs hanging over the edge of the examination table. 

“Keith,” he responded.

The doctor showed no signs of discomfort at the use of his first name, just sitting down and picking up Louis’ chart. 

“So, Louis, I hear that you’ve been experiencing worsening symptoms, can you list them?”

“Well I can’t breathe, um, I don’t know, coughing?”

Accidentally proving his statement, Louis took a deep breath in and was sent into a hacking cough. Red droplets fell on his hand and he rolled his eyes, “Can you hand me a tissue?”

Dr. Rogers grabbed the box and handed it to Louis, but his eyes were fixed on the blood that the man was wiping from his mouth. “You’re coughing up blood?”

Louis glanced up, “Yeah, so?”

“That’s not good, Louis..”

He trailed off, turning to the computer in the corner of the room and pulling up the scans of Louis’ chest, “Where does it hurt when you cough?”

Louis rolled his eyes and pointed to his left side, watching as Kieth zoomed in, studying the images, until, “Shit!”

Louis jumped at the sudden sound, and felt dread settle over him as Dr.Rogers picked up the phone and made a frantic phone call that Louis couldn’t make out from his seat. “What?”

He was ignored, as nurses began to file in the room, listening to him, “What?”

Two of the female nurses grabbed his arms and helped him down the hall and through a door, he grumbled, complaining, “I can walk, now where the bloody hell are we going?” 

Again, they ignored him, just instructing him to lie down on a different table, harsh and white, like a hospital bed. “Just relax” they told him, before stabbing him in the bloody arm with a fucking needle!

“Hey, what was that for?” Louis cursed, his vision becoming blurry as the sedative kicked in. Dr. Rogers appeared above him, nothing but a blob of pale skin and a white shirt, “I’m sorry, but there’s no time to waste.”

Louis tried to respond, but sometime between the thought and breathing in to speak, darkness claimed him.

———

When Louis came to, there was a burning in his lungs and the existential need to vomit. He stumbled out of bed, ignoring the slight pain that appeared in his arm as he threw himself at the first available place that he could puke.  _ He really hoped it wasn’t his laundry basket. _

It wasn’t. Instead, he found himself emptying his breakfast of toast and orange juice into a small white trash can that he’s never seen in his life. His eyebrows furrowed and he glanced around to see that he in fact was not in his bedroom, but in a hospital. He was even wearing one of those ridiculous gowns that patients wear.

He pinched himself.

_ Nope, not dreaming. _

Humming came from down the hall that was outside the room and Louis looked around him for something to defend himself with, instead, he began to cough pitifully, the tightness in his lungs painful. 

A woman, short and plump came around the corner, her baby blue scrubs and her dazzling smile still clear through the tears hazing Louis’ eyes as a result from his coughing fit. The nurse froze when she saw Louis, “What are you doing out of bed?!”

Louis coughed once in response, and the woman mumbled something under her breath when she noticed the bucket of vomit and helped Louis up, her grip surprisingly gentle and warm. She studied the blood on his arm, “You tore your IVs out.”

Sure enough, Louis found two punctures, one on his left hand, the other in the crook of his right elbow. He hefted himself back onto the bed, “Oops?”

The woman sighed, “S’alright, darling, the doctor will be glad you’re awake. You slept for a good sixteen hours.”

Needles were slid back into his skin and Louis winced at the lack of warning. A cool rush of medicine made his head spin and he wanted very much to go back to sleep, but he was in a strange place, a hospital no less, with no idea how he got there. “Um, excuse me, nurse,” the woman signaled that she was listening, checking Louis’ pulse and other vitals, “how’d I get here?”

She sighed, “The doctor will explain it to you, dear, he should be here any second,” her soft brown eyes turned stern, and Louis suddenly felt like he was ten years old again, getting scolded by his mother, “you stay in bed, okay?”

He huffed but nodded, attempting to cross his arms, but was restrained by the stupid IV again. It was during the resulting glaring match—one sided of course, since IVs can’t exactly glare back—that Louis missed the nurse slipping out. He fiddled anxiously with the bedsheets, his breath wheezy and altogether quite bloody annoying, like a baby rattle had gotten stuck in his lungs.

“Mr. Tomlinson!”

Louis looked up, only to find someone who was definitely not Dr. Rogers. This man was young, around Louis’ age, and painfully attractive. Louis felt his jaw threatening to unhinge, so instead he just glared, “Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Dr. Styles, I’ll be your doctor.”

Louis snorted, “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock, where am I?”

Dr. Styles smiled softly, and Louis decided that he definitely would need to duct tape his jaw shut if he was to continue not looking like an idiot. 

The doctor in front of him was tall, definitely over six foot, with short, curly, chestnut coloured hair. He had striking green eyes, dark pink lips, and dimples.  _ Fucking dimples!  _ He was tan, and Louis thought he saw some tattoos peeking out from his white jacket that all doctors seem to wear. 

In summary, he was hot, and the only way Louis knew how to deal with that was with sass. 

“You’re in London, Mr. Tomlinson.” 

“Yeah, okay, why am I here exactly? Cause last I remember a needle was shoved in my arm like I was in the fucking Matrix or some shit.”

As his voice raised in volume, the strain in his chest increased and he broke off into a hacking cough.

“Lean back,” Warm hands wrapped around Louis’ biceps, pushing him to lean against the pillow, and Louis blinked up through bleary eyes as Styles pressed a stethoscope to his chest. 

“Why am I-I in L-London?” He wheezed out, his stomach still turning, swallowing the urge to vomit again. 

Kind, concerned green eyes stared at him, before the doctor turned, catching the attention of a nurse in the hallway. They exchanged an urgent whisper and Harry scribbled something down on Louis’ chart. 

“Okay, um great, yeah let’s continue to not let the guy in the hospital bed not know what’s going on!!”

The nurse walked out of the room, and Louis was left to glare at the doctor, who was now checking on all the machines hooked up to him and writing them down. 

“Fight me!”

That got Dr. Styles’ attention and he looked at Louis, who was in a hospital bed, coughing and wheezing, incredulously. 

“What?”

Louis coughed again, “I said, fight me!”

“Maybe later.” The confusion was melting into amusement on Styles’ face and Louis scowled. 

“At least tell me what the hell is going on, lad.”

“You were misdiagnosed with Asthma. In your last doctor’s appointment, your physician noticed a mass in your left lung. It’s non cancerous, but it is concerning that it went untreated for so long, your surgery was originally scheduled for three days, but with your condition, I’ve had it moved to tomorrow afternoon.”

Louis gaped,  _ a fucking tumor? _

“So after it’s gone, I can play football again?”

His doctor snorted, but smiled, “Yes, Mr. Tomlinson, if everything goes well, you will return to a normal life.”

“Does my family know?”

Styles nodded, “yes, they were contacted while you were asleep. They were going to come straight back, but according to them, you ‘might stab them if they tried.’”

Louis laughed, well, tried to, but it was breathy and weak,  _ dammit _ , “Yeah, they’re not wrong.”

A stupid, attractive, annoying smirk plastered across pink lips that Louis had to remind himself not to stare at, “you certainly are a character, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Scoffing, Louis snorted, “Jesus, mate, just call me Louis. Actually, anything but that proper ‘Mr. Tomlinson’ crap.”

“Okay, Louis,” another dizzy spell must’ve sent Louis reeling, cause it definitely wasn’t because Styles’ crooked grin, dimples and all, was being directed at him, “rest, we’ll get you feeling better in no time. I’ll be back to check on you, and I’ll bring your surgeon so you can get talked through everything.”

“Uh, thanks, I guess, Doc.”

Louis brought the blankets up to his chin, snuggling into the blank white that wrapped around him. He felt his mind go hazy, but not before Dr. Styles turned, “Oh, and Louis?”

He hummed in acknowledgement, “Call me Harry.”

_ Harry _ was the last thought Louis had before he once again slept.

———

When Louis woke up, it was to a glass of water being placed onto a tray attached to his bed. A nurse, the same one who had found Louis earlier, smiled at him, “Since your surgery was moved, I’m afraid no dinner or food until after, sorry, sugar. Here’s some water though, you must be parched.”

Louis nodded, “Thank you,” he croaked. 

“No problem, darling, Dr. Styles should be in any minute now.”

Louis hid his scowl in the glass as he took a drink, the cool water soothing the burning in his throat.

“So you’re from America?”

The nurse smiled at him, “Born and raised,” she told him proudly, “the accent’s a bit obvious isn’t it?”

“Just a bit.” The southern drawl was in fact obvious, but not in a bad way, it reeked of hospitality and honey basically dripped off every word. 

She laughed, and Louis felt himself engaging into the short conversation, joking around as he drank more of the water and she fiddled with his IVs. He was coughing more often and with a particular rough bout, he felt the blood coat his lips. 

“Ah, shit, that’s disgusting.”

The nurse, Darla, rolled her eyes fondly and handed him a towel so he could clean up, “I’ve seen far more disgusting than a little blood, sugar.”

“Yeah, um,” Louis opened his mouth, but clamped it shut as dizziness hit him and he had the sudden urge to heave up all the water that was now sitting heavy in his stomach. 

“Oh,  _ god, _ ” his stomach cramped and a bucket was shoved in his arms just in time for him to vomit. He gagged, the watery, barely there vomit trailing down his chin.

“Now that’s a little disgusting.”

It was Harry, and Louis glared at him, barely choking out, “Fight me,” before he was throwing up again. 

Darla rubbed his back sympathetically, but then Louis grumbled, wiping his chin with the towel. 

“Done?”

Louis nodded and turned his attention to his doctor, “When’d you get here?” he groaned.

“Long enough to be glad that we moved the surgery.”

Louis wheezed.

“Dr. Malik, your surgeon, just got done with another patient, so he should be here soon.”

“Harry!”

The Irish accent came from a blonde man that was walking down the hall, “Sorry, mate, Zayn said that he would be a few minutes, you know how Liam can get when he thinks Z is too stressed.“

“Niall?”

Harry watched Niall’s head whip around to look at a shocked Louis. 

“Louis Tomlinson?!”

Niall laughed, rushing over to squeeze the living daylights out of Louis, a groan of protest leaving the brunette. 

“Niall,” Harry pulled him away, “Stop strangling my patient please.”

He succeeded in loosening the grip, but was otherwise ignored.

“Christ, Neil, where have you been?”

Niall blushed, laughing quietly, “Well, I met someone at that big party at Kyle’s.” 

Louis nodded, “It’s always at Kyle’s.”

“His name is Zayn, and well, actually,” Niall looked hesitant, “Um.”

Louis grunted, coughing once, “Let me guess, since you’re so hesitant, you met Zayn and then Liam and now you’re all together.”

Rolling his eyes at the shocked looks on both Harry and Niall’s face, Louis flicked Niall on the thigh, “Come on, mate, really think I would mind?”

A smile appeared and Niall was hugging Louis again, “Never should’ve doubted you, Tommo. Now why the fuck are you in the hospital?”

“Lung tumor,” Louis shrugged, acting as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Niall turned to Harry, shoving a finger in his face, “You better heal him, Harold, or I will kill you myself. Also stop ogling my best mate, yeah?”

Louis blushed, his eyes flitting down to the bed, his fingers picking at the blankets. Harry just laughed, and  _ fuck _ was it a nice laugh. Louis’ insides turned and he was breathless for an entirely different reason. 

_ Nope. No. He was not attracted to his arrogant, smirking, bloody hot doctor.  _

“Sorry I’m late,” another voice joined and Louis looked up to see someone who had to be a model. He was beautiful, and Louis slapped Niall on the back, “Damn, Niall, you sure got a looker.”

Zayn furrowed his eyebrows at the sight of his boyfriend perched on a hospital bed next to a man he had never seen before. 

“Z, this is Louis.”

Understanding hit him, and Louis held out a hand, “Pleasure to meet you, mate,” he turned to Niall, “I expect to meet Liam after I can breathe.”

They went on to discuss said tumor, Louis nodding along as they told him the procedures for the surgery. Harry was looking at the chart, letting Zayn do most of the explaining, his lip tugged between his teeth, and  _ holy crap _ , did he look good. 

As if sensing Louis’ gaze, Harry looked up and smirked at him, before tapping his ear lightly twice. Louis’ eyes widened and he turned back to the conversation blushing. 

Fifteen minutes later, they had settled into a more casual conversation while Harry listened to Louis’ breathing. 

It didn’t take long for Harry to usher everyone out so Louis could rest. “Any pain?”

Louis shook his head, fiddling with his hands so he didn’t have to look at Harry. He really didn’t understand why this practical stranger was affecting him so much. 

“If you need help sleeping, ring the bell and a nurse will come give you a sedative.”

“Yes, sir,” Louis lazily saluted him.

Harry rolled his eyes, “Goodnight, Louis. Sleep well, little love.”

Louis opened his mouth to protest the pet name, but Harry laughed, “Let me guess, fight me?”

Louis huffed, smirking, “I was just gonna say goodnight. Christ, Harold, you make me seem so violent.”

Snorting, Harry walked to the door, his voice suddenly turning stern, “I’m serious about the rest, Louis. Sleep.”

Swallowing heavily, Louis found himself drowning in the darkening green eyes, his mouth going dry, “Yeah, okay.”

Another  _ stupid  _ smirk, “Good.”

Then he was gone, and Louis let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. The stupid tumor and stupid Harry were causing problems, because god dammit, Louis could never seem to breathe properly with them around.

———

“Good morning!”

Louis grunted, his stomach rolling, “Niall, do me a favor and hand me that trash can.”

The blonde did it, “Yeah, sure, Lou, but why-“

Louis dry heaved, his empty stomach trying to escape his body through his throat. 

“Oh, jesus, need me to get Harry?”

Louis mumbled something along the lines of, “I don’t need that arrogant prick who’s not at all hot. Nope, not hot.”

Niall laughed, “Someone has a crush.”

His tone was teasing but Louis glared at him, “I’ll fight you.”

Harry chose that moment to stroll in, “I’m hurt, darling, I thought your fighting was reserved for me.”

Louis flipped him off, coughing, “Can we just get this fucking tumor out of me already?”

“A few more hours,” Harry promised, his hand pressing at Louis’ left side, “Pain?”

“Six,” Louis moaned out, “your hands are cold.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Deep breaths.”

Louis did as he was told, wheezing before he couldn’t hold back and coughed into his fist. As he looked down at his bloody fist, he sighed,  _ a few more hours. _

———

Niall left to go get lunch with Liam, and the next time Louis saw someone was around noon and he was under a pile of extra blankets and pillows. 

It was Harry,  _ of bloody course it was Harry _ , “You look like shit.”

Louis glared at him, struggling to cough out the words, “Fight me.”

Instead of the usual initial annoyance, Harry’s dimples poked out fondly, “I can’t fight you, little love, you’d beat me.”

Louis nodded roughly,  _ that's right. _

“Thirty minutes until prep time, you ready?”

Nodding again, Louis coughed. Harry pressed a phone into his hands, “I thought you might want to call your family.”

A smile crept on his face, “Thanks.”

A hand brushed through Louis’ fringe, “Of course, buzz when you’re done and then it’ll be time.”

Dialing the number, Louis felt some of the anxiety melt from him as his mother’s voice filtered through,  _ “Harry?” _

_ This must be Harry’s phone _ , Louis thought, his eyebrows furrowed,  _ why was his mum on a first name basis with his doctor? _

“No, mum, it’s me.”

_ “Oh, Lou, baby, how are you feeling?” _

“M’okay, a bit nervous. Can I talk to the girls?”

He went through all the motions, assuring and being reassured in return as he talked to his sisters and his mother. It was a bit chaotic, a lot of talking over people, but that was home and Louis found himself relaxing. They fussed over him as he kept pausing to cough, but he was smiling throughout it all.

It was just his mum when he finally asked, “So you know Harry?”

Laughter filtered through the phone,  _ “Yes, such a kind young man. He’s been walking us through the whole process. He’s 26, perfect age for-“ _

Louis cut her off, “Oh, no, mum, I-“

_ “Relax, love, just let me pretend to play matchmaker, kay?” _

“Yeah, sure, mum,” Harry and Zayn walked in, Niall trailing behind them, “I love you, talk to you later.”

_ “Love you, boobear.” _

The line went dead and Louis handed the phone back to Harry, ignoring the zing of electricity that shot up his arm as their hands brushed. 

“Ready, little love?”

Nodding, Louis looked into Harry’s eyes. The doctor must have seen something in them, because a hand rubbed his thigh soothingly, “It’ll be okay.” 

Niall hugged Louis as nurses began to buzz around him. Zayn went through things one more time before patting Louis’ hand, “See ya in there, kiddo.”

Louis grumbled, “I’m not a kid.”

Something was inserted through his IV and the rush of medicine sent him for a loop. He glanced at Harry one more time, slurring out, “Fight you later.”

“Of course.”

———

Louis woke up in the hospital, and for the first time since arriving he didn’t have a sense of discomfort at the sterile white room. Oh, and he could breathe. 

He grinned, pumping his fist in the air, “Thank fuck!”

Pain ripped through his side and he groaned, “Oh, nevermind.”

“Louis!” Darla popped her head through, concerned eyes falling in the grip he had on his side, “you crazy nut, be careful!”

She pressed the red button by his bed, “Dr. Styles, please.”

Minutes later, Harry was in Louis’ room, “What happened?”

“This thing,” she flicked Louis’ head, “was so excited that he could breathe”—“give me a break, it’s been a long time since I could,” Louis protested—“that he may have hurt his surgery side.”

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Okay, Louis, let me take a look.”

When he didn’t move, Harry moved Louis’ gown out of the way so he could look at the bandages. He lifted the corner, and lightly pressed at the skin. Louis winced, “Ouch.”

“You didn’t tear the stitches, which is good. I’ll up the pain meds for a little bit to help with the aggravation.”

Louis nodded, already tired of holding his eyes open, “When can I go home?” 

“In a few days, little love. No football for two months, take it easy.”

Louis was already falling back asleep, mumbling out, “mkay.”

———

Sure enough, four days later, Louis was back in Doncaster, forced into a big group hug that was gentle because he still had stitches in. He had said a long goodbye to Niall, and shorter ones to Zayn and Liam, who he had finally met. Harry, well, um. Yeah, Louis was pretty sure he had lost his mind saying goodbye. He had gone to kiss his cheek, but Harold just had to turn his head, and they were kissing. It was short, Louis pulling back with a squeak, ignoring Harry’s surprised, but smug smile, he told him, “Fight you some other time,” and hurried off. 

The two months of recovery seemed to drag on forever, Louis getting more and more antsy with every practice he watched, he would be back on the field just in time for tryouts for the season. 

He was ecstatic his first day back, smile wide and eyes crinkling. Louis fell back into the sport with little difficulty. His side ached slightly, but he could breathe, the clear fall air rushed through his lungs as he ran across the field. His teammates seemed happy to have him back, and they fell into the role of a team easily. 

When he got home, he was sweaty, sore, but he was grinning from ear to ear, challenging Lottie to a race because, well just because he could. He worked hard, stretching and going to every single one of his doctor appointments, much to his dislike of doctors because he was finally living again. 

He kept in contact with Niall, and they called every week. Louis was actually going to London to celebrate Niall’s birthday since he hadn’t been able to make it early enough for Liam’s birthday. 

_ “I can’t wait to see you, mate. I miss you.” _

Louis laughed, “Miss you too, Nialler.”

_ “Excited to see Harry?” _

Louis gulped, “Uh, no, why would I be excited to see him?” he scoffed. 

Niall was the one laughing this time _ , “Yeah, because you didn’t kiss before-“ _

“Sorry, Niall, you’re breaking up. See you Saturday!”

He hung up before he ended up digging himself deeper into a hole that he didn’t really want to think about. So Harry would be there. He would be seeing Harry, possibly talking to Harry, in two days.

_ Great.  _

_ Everything was fucking great.  _

———

Louis straightened the low neck, maroon shirt and adjusted the jean jacket he was wearing for what felt like the millionth time that night. He was buzzing with nerves and honestly he really needed a drink. 

He was standing outside the club that he was supposed to meet everyone at. The chill London air was refreshing, and ultimately the reason Louis finally stepped inside. 

He spotted Niall right away, his blonde highlights were slowly growing out, his natural brunette finally showing. Louis made his way over silently, sneaking up behind Niall who was standing between Zayn’s legs at the bar. 

A wicked smile on his face, Louis wrapped his arms around Louis, “Aah!”

Niall screamed, and Louis watched Zayn erupt into laughter. 

“Louis!”

Subject to another one of Niall’s bear hugs, Louis grinned, “Happy Birthday, Neil!!”

Still hugging his best friend, Louis bumped fists with Zayn, “Hey, Z. Where’s Li?”

“Him and Harry went to get drinks.”

Niall released him, smirking, “Oh he’s very excited to see Harry.”

Louis blushed, shaking his head, “Yeah right, Niall.”

“I’m hurt, little love.”

_ Oh shit. Oh shit. _

“Harold.”

The doctor looked sinfully good, and Louis’ mouth went dry. The black silk shirt he was wearing was only buttoned at the bottom, revealing the enticing tan skin that was littered with black ink. White slacks hung deliciously over his legs, hugging slim hips. His hand was wrapped around two drinks, one which he handed to Niall, and the other he kept, sipping slowly. Louis tried, he really really tried to not stare at him, the way his throat moved or the way he licked his lips after taking a drink.

_ Christ.  _

“Vodka, please!” He called out to a bartender. The woman nodded and three shot glasses were placed and filled in front of him. 

He took them all in a row, barely grimacing at the burn, tilting his head back. Harry’s eyes were burning into him,  _ it was going to be a long night.  _

———

“Lou!!”

Niall was pissed-drunk. “Hey, Niall.”

“Dance with me!”

Louis began to protest but the pout sent his way had him caving, “Okay, mate, let’s go.”

The club was crowded, not that that was surprising for a Saturday night in London. The music was loud, Louis could feel it vibrating through the floor, and there were people grinding and dancing all over each other. The smell of sex, sweat, and cheap perfume filled Louis’ nose, and with the buzz of alcohol in his veins he felt alive. He danced with Niall, the two of them laughing as they wrapped around each other, moving to the music. 

Before long Liam strolled up, pulling Niall back into his chest with a wink at Louis, “Getting jealous over there.”

Louis laughed but he didn’t protest because hands wrapped around his hips, “Hey, pretty thing, want to dance?”

He grinned at Liam, “I found someone to fill his place it seems,” he turned in the stranger’s arms grinning up at the blonde man with eyes the colour of whiskey. He smelled like cigarette smoke and tequila, and Louis smiled coyly at him. 

The song changed, a remix of a song that was humming through Louis, all bass and sensual motivation, but before he could move against the man, he was pulled away. 

Familiar tingles zinged up his spine and the smell of vanilla told him exactly who had ruined his chance of getting laid tonight. 

He heard Harry telling the guy, who was pissed off, to get lost, but he couldn’t care. Harry’s hands were on his hips, holding him against his body possessively. 

He whined, pouting up at Harry, gaining his attention, “I wanted to dance.”

“You can dance,” Harry permitted, “with me.”

A smile drifted over Louis’ lips and for the first time since arriving, he felt completely sober. He let the music wash over him, “Then dance with me.”

He moved against Harry, pressing his bum tightly against his front, and Louis could feel a slight bulge fitting into the curve of his arse. The hands on his hips tightened, guiding Louis’ movement as they grinned against each other. 

“Not fighting me this time?”

The words were breathed into Louis’ ear and he shuddered. He could practically hear the smirk curling over Harry’s lips. He shook his head, turning in Harry’s arms, “Still starts with an f, but not fight.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, his hands hovering over the swell of Louis arse. Pressing on his tiptoes, Louis stared into Harry’s green eyes which were far darker than usual, his eyes half hooded, “Fuck me,” he whispered. 

When Harry froze in surprise, Louis pressed an open mouthed kiss to Harry’s jaw, “Please?”

“You’re drunk,” Harry gritted out, but he didn’t make a move to stop dancing, lazily moving their hips together in slow circles.

“I’m not,” Louis insisted, “I had a little vodka and a beer, I’m tipsy at most. Perfectly capable of making a decision.”

Harry’s grip on Louis said that there was no way Louis was going anywhere, but his words gave him a way out, “Are you sure?”

Louis nodded, his hips jutting out earnestly. He bit his lip and looked up at Harry, pleadingly, “If you don’t want this, then-“

Harry kissed him. It was different from the time in the hospital, mostly because this time it was on purpose. Harry kissed slow and practiced, sucking and biting teasingly on Louis’ lips, and when he pulled back, Louis looked completely wrecked. His blue eyes were glazed over and his lips were red and swollen. 

He saw Niall grinning drunkenly at them, ‘Get it’ he mouthed to Louis, who flushed before looking dazedly back at Harry. 

“Can we go?” Louis asked, his hands tugging at Harry’s shirt. 

“I thought you wanted to dance, little love.”

Louis scowled, “I did want to, but now I clearly want you to take me home and stick your dick up my arse, yeah?”

Harry rolled his eyes, pinching Louis’ bottom in warning, “Watch the attitude, babe. Yes, we can go.”

Louis smiled in victory, tucking himself into Harry’s side as the taller man led them from the club. Louis wasn’t happy when he had to detach from Harry to climb into the passenger seat, but a warm, possessive grip on his thigh would have to do until they got to wherever Harry lived. 

They seemed to hit every red light, and Louis was left to squirm in his seat as Harry teased him, his palm moving to press into the bulge tenting Louis’ jeans.

When they finally made it to Harry’s front door, it didn’t take long for Harry to get them inside and pin Louis against the wall, pressing the door shut. 

They kissed there, tongues sliding together as Louis became pliant in Harry’s arms. A thigh slipped between Louis’ legs and Harry broke the kiss, “It’s okay, baby, you can grind on me. Bet you look so pretty diving my thigh.”

Louis moaned, his hips already moving, sighing as the friction caused the coil in his stomach to tighten. Harry sucked a bruise on the spot just over Louis’ pulse, eliciting a series of delicious whimpers and groans from the younger boy. 

Louis twitched as his orgasm chased closer, but then the thigh was gone and he was being lifted. He squeaked, but his legs were already wrapped around Harry’s waist and his hands were tangled around Harry’s neck. 

They moved down the hall and to what Louis guessed to be Harry’s room. Dropping Louis onto the bed, Harry stood over him, “Strip.”

Scrambling to comply, Louis fumbled to pull his shirt over his head and unbutton his jeans so he could kick them off. Harry moved to the side, his eyes still on Louis, who was left in a tight pair of black boxer briefs, splayed out deliciously. He grabbed a bottle of lube from the night stand and a condom, throwing them onto the bed before climbing on top of Louis and snogging him senseless. 

Louis sighed into the kiss, his hands dipping into Harry’s shirt to dance over warm, tan skin. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry murmured when he pulled back and let his eyes and hands roam over Louis’ body. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Louis complained breathlessly, impatiently trying to tug off Harry’s shirt. 

Harry tutted softly, twisting a nipple in warning. Louis sucked in a sharp breath, and a smirk lit up Harry’s face, “Sensitive, huh?”

“Yeah, o- _ oh.” _

Harry’s tongue traced over the pert bud, teeth grazing over it lightly. Louis squirmed, moaning softly. After leaving both of Louis’ nipples wet and red, Louis was a panting mess beneath him. 

“P-Please, Harry.”

Harry, who was still fully dressed, hummed in thought, but he complied, stripping down to a pair of pants that did nothing to hide his erection. Louis’ eyes widened,  _ holy shit.  _

Harry saw where Louis’ eyes were and he chuckled, fingers toying with Louis' waistband to get his attention. 

Sure enough, blue eyes looked up at him, and Harry smiled down at a completely submissive Louis, “Tell me what you want, little love, and maybe I’ll stop teasing you.”

“H-Harry.”

Harry scoffed, “Use your words, or I’ll leave you here and you won’t get anything.”

Louis whined, “F-Fuck me.”

“Good boy.”

Hands tugged Louis’ pants off, and a large hand wrapped around his prick, jerking it lazily. Louis thrust up, groaning at the relief as a thumb rubbed over his slit. 

“God, yes,  _ yes.” _

He was so distracted by the hand around his cock to hear the lube clicking open as Harry slicked up the fingers of his other hand. Then the pressure around his cock was gone and Louis whined pitifully at the loss, but then a finger was pressing at his hole, circling the rim teasingly. Louis tried to press against the finger, but a hand pressed his hips firmly to the mattress, “Patience, little love.”

Then the first finger pressed in and Louis was so lost to the feeling of having Harry’s finger inside of him, reaching deeper and stretching him more than his fingers could. 

It felt like forever, the aching need to cum and the feeling of one finger becoming two and then three, before Harry deemed Louis ready for his cock. Louis had come close to cumming at least twice, but Harry had denied him with a shake of his head and a harsh jab to his prostate. 

Louis had tears streaming down his face, eyes red with frustration, body tight with the need to let go. He watched Harry strip and open the condom, but Louis reached out, small hand wrapping around Harry’s wrist. 

“Can I?” he asked, taking the condom from Harry and peering up at him innocently. The older boy nodded, and Louis smiled lazily, sitting up so he could slide the condom over Harry. 

Harry was big. That’s the easiest way to say it, and a part of Louis was wondering,  _ can my arse really fit that? _ but he felt the arousal course through him, and he pressed a kiss to the tip of Harry’s rubber covered cock, blinking up at him. Harry cursed slightly and Louis found himself pinned back down, Harry’s lips claiming his again, hard cock poking Louis’ thigh. 

Moaning into the kiss, Louis wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist, “Please,” he mumbled against Harry’s lips. Harry nodded, his nose bumping Louis’. Slicking up his cock, Harry looked Louis in the eyes, “Are you ready?”

Louis rolled his eyes, “Yes, yes, I’m ready, please.”

Then Harry was pressing into him and Louis could’ve sworn nothing was better than this. There was definitely a stretch, a slight burn, but not a bad one, it felt good, and Louis’ eyes rolled back into his head, mouth falling open into a silent ‘o.’

“Shit,” Hands gripped Louis’ hips, “You’re so tight, fuck, baby, feel so good.”

Seeing Harry, his eyes dark with lust staring down at him, had Louis biting his lip to hold in his moan. Harry bottomed out and he leaned down to press his lips to Louis’, before the smaller boy cried out, “Move, Harry, please.”

That’s all it took, Harry pulled back before snapping his hips back, Louis’ hands moving to grip at the sheets. Harry set a rough, fast pace, only slowing down once to change the angle to find—

“ _ Right there! _ Don’t stop!”

Smirking, Harry nailed Louis' prostate, hands scratching down his back as Louis tightened around him. “Please, please, so close, need to cum, please!”

Louis was crying, his angry prick red and dripping with precum, begging Harry for permission to cum.

“Okay, little love, you can cum.” 

One last hit to his prostate had Louis crying out, spurting his release over their stomachs as Harry’s thrusts became sloppy and he came with a groan into the condom. 

Louis was so fucked out, still whimpering deliciously, that he didn’t really notice Harry slipping away to grab a wet rag to clean them up after tying up the condom and throwing it away. 

“Lou, baby, come back for me.”

Louis just shook his head, mind basking in the quiet fog that had rolled over him, and rolled over, curling up on top of Harry. 

Harry hummed softly, hands combing through Louis’ hair and rubbing softly at his back, “Please, little love, I miss you.”

“Fight me.”

The response was sleepy as Louis yawned and nuzzled his nose into Harry’s neck, but it was enough and Harry grinned into the dark, pulling the covers over them. 

———

Waking up in a hospital to Harry Styles was a lot different than waking up naked on top of Harry Styles in Harry Styles’ bedroom. Louis definitely preferred the naked one. He sighed happily and went back to snuggling into Harry’s warmth. A few minutes later, Harry had woken up and rumbled a, “Good morning, baby,” followed by a soft kiss. 

Louis grinned, “Knew I seduced you with all my coughing, vomit, and drool.”

Harry laughed, thumb stroking over Louis’ cheek, before smiling, dimples in full effect, softly asking, “Fight me?”

Louis didn’t need any help figuring out what Harry meant, the unsaid was in his eyes and Louis smiled, eyes crinkling, “Yes, I’ll go on a date with you, you dolt.”

———

**_Two years later…_ **

“Yes, Niall, I’m almost there,” Louis pinched his nose, “Christ it’s just dinner.”

_ “Louis Tomlinson, you well know that this is not just a dinner. It’s the anniversary of you being able to breathe! And you are late!” _

It was a stupid tradition really, ever since Louis and Harry had begun dating, and Louis became more and more serious with football, Niall had basically bowed down to the day of Louis’ surgery. Because if it hadn’t been for the tumor that needed to be removed, Harry and Louis wouldn’t have met, and if it hadn’t been removed then Louis wouldn’t be able to pursue his dreams and what not. 

So now every year they had dinner at Harry’s place to celebrate. 

Well, Harry and Louis’ place. 

Six months of long distance led to Louis trying out for Tottenham, making it, leaving the Donny Rovers, and surprising Harry with the news that he would be moving to London. 

He had moved in with Harry and then they really became HarryandLouis. Despite having time consuming professions, they made time for each other. They bickered and had screaming matches, but they had long talks and angry sex (not necessarily in that order) to resolve conflict. Most importantly they loved each other and made each other happy. 

Louis had just gotten done with practice and headed home to find that they had moved the dinner to Niall, Zayn, and Liam’s house which was twenty minutes more. He had changed, throwing his bag onto the couch, and hurried back to his car when Niall called him, apparently too impatient to understand that Louis couldn’t get there in two minutes. 

Finally, he pulled up to the house, parking haphazardly and jogging to the front door, locking the car behind him. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late…” he trailed off, because while he was expecting the door to be unlocked, he wasn’t expecting for the hallway to be empty and dark. “Uh, hello?”

He turned into the living room, which was also dark, and flipped the light switch. Harry was standing there, in the same black shirt and white slacks from the club, a proud smile on his face. He tapped his wrist twice and Louis walked forward without question, eyebrows furrowing, “Harry, wha-“

Then Harry was on one knee, a ring in his hand, that stupid smirk on his face, “Fight me?”

Yeah, Louis was a little bit breathless when he nodded and the ring was slipped onto his finger, Harry swooping down to kiss him deeply; Niall’s voice filling the room as a bottle of wine was popped open and Louis celebrated with his friends, tucked into his fiancé’s side a smile on his face.   
  
  



End file.
